


You're A Masterpiece

by terrencepeterson



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: A hint of a blowjob, A smattering of angst and fluff, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, Art AU, Art Major AU, I swear, M/M, Other, RageHappy, Raywood, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, college angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrencepeterson/pseuds/terrencepeterson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection." </i> - Michelangelo<br/>It's more than just about art and romance. It's about the art of romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Would It Be Okay If I Took Your Breath Away?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short introduction to a multi-chaptered fic.

Ray wasn't sure what he had gotten himself into.

“Go to college,” they said.

“It'll be the time of your life,” they said.

When did that part of college start? The whole time of your life bit? He wasn't sure because he was certainly not having the time of his life when he would stare at the textbook for his gen. ed. Biology class. Who even gives a shit about eukaryotic cells? He wasn't even a Biology major.

Ray was studying graphic design. Computers were his thing, aside from video games. He wanted to apply what he learned in his classes to a future career in video game design once he graduated and could get into a program to further his learning. He despised the hands-on art stuff. So of course when his advisor informed him of the studio classes that were required, he was a little bit displeased.

“Ceramics? Painting? Figure drawing? Jesus Christ, how is any of this going to help me, Jordan?”

His advisor rolled his eyes, “You've got to be able to apply the fundamentals of art to all forms before you can be unleashed in the digital world. Graphic design isn't as easy as clicking a few buttons and calling it good. There are reasons we do things, Ray.”

It was Ray's turn to roll his eyes and he just gestured to the computer.

“Just sign me up for whatever I can take this semester so I can get them over with.”

Jordan sighed and leaned forward in his office chair to toggle the mouse, clicking at things Ray couldn't see on the screen.

“I've signed you up for ceramics with Lee Glan and figure drawing with Lane Anders. I think two studio classes on top of the two graphic courses is enough...”

“Yeah, thanks so much for this opportunity. I've heard Lane's kind of a dick,” Ray remarked, standing up from the chair he had been perched in for his advisor meeting. People claim automony in college, but you still have someone holding your hand for the littlest things.

Ray watched as his advisor shrugged, “Can't be too bad-- he's been teaching here since '66.”

He huffed a goodbye and went downstairs to peek into the drawing room where he assumed his figure drawing class would be. The walls were stark white, aside from the areas where the brick was exposed. And for an art classroom, they were bare. The back wall Ray was facing was a corkboard filled with different colored pins and he assumed that's where they would be critiquing their artwork.

The little easel-bench combos around the room seemed archaic, but you couldn't expect much from a place that poured millions of dollars into a shitty football stadium for a shitty football team instead of supporting their education.

Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as it seemed.  
  
\- - -

Bad was an understatement. Ray was overcome with nausea as soon as a tall, pot-bellied, gray-haired man with the thick mustache and a shirt with catfish on it walked in the classroom on the first day of the semester. He introduced himself as Lane Anders. He claimed he had a PhD in something but said that “Dr. Anders” was not an acceptable was to address him and he preferred to be on a first name basis with his students.

Ray was ready to introduce himself. He'd done it in a lot of classes before.

_“Hi I'm Ray, I'm a Puerto Rican from Queens and I'm a graphic design major.”_

Easy enough, and everyone was accustomed to hearing a quick blurb about their classmates.

Ray's eyes scanned the room and he tried to take note of the other students. He internally monologued as he looked at the guy directly across from him.

_Short, well-built. Stern facial features. Probably likes football._

The girl standing beside the guy was just as forgettable.

_Tall, sandy blonde hair. Is that sandy? Maybe it's more of a dishwater. I think that's the term. Shit she's looking at me._

He immediately looked down at his easel, nervously thumbing at the bottom right-hand corner of his pad of newsprint. As Lane continued on and on about the syllabus and his attendance policy, Ray continued his study of his fellow students.

His eyes stopped on a kid with wire-framed glasses, whose curly brown hair poked out underneath the gray beanie he was wearing.

_I think he said his name was Michael, he's from Jersey. Maybe architectural design?_

While paused on his fellow-east coaster, Ray was interrupted by the door of the classroom suddenly flinging open, a guy hurrying in carrying a sketchpad and a tackle box.

“Sorry I'm late, Lane,” he apologized, taking the open easel beside Ray. And giving him the proper angle to side-eye him.

_Tall, ruffled hair. He probably uses product in it to get it to lay like that. What even is that shirt? It looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster. It's kind of hot._

Okay, slow down there internal monologue.

Lane chuckled, “Mr. Haywood, considering this is a very important part of your major I expected you to be here already... But I'll spare your attendance points for this day.”

The guy nodded, “Thanks.”

_Mr. Haywood? I thought this guy was all first names?_

“And since you were late, why not introduce yourself?”

There was a slight pause before he spoke, Ray all-too aware of the slight accent that's hinted at as the words fall from his lips.

“My name's Ryan, I'm from Georgia and I'm a studio arts major.”

And in that moment, Ray knows class isn't going to be as bad as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos and comments! This is a post-upload edit, just to tell you that the title comes from "You Had Me At Hello" by A Day To Remember.


	2. Wherever You're Going, I'm Going Your Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh right, the fucking studio arts major is making fun of me. Go figure."

Hunter College was just far enough away from his home that Ray didn't have to worry about his parents dropping in on him uninvited and close enough that if he wanted to ride the subway home for dinner on a weeknight he could. His parents had convinced him to go to Hunter, guiding him away from the Art Institutes of New York and into a public university where they could try to persuade him to go into a different major. But Ray was determined to go into graphic design. There was nothing really holding him back aside from his parents constantly breathing down his neck.

They wanted a son who was a doctor. A son who would make a name for himself in the field of physics. They wanted the prodigal son but they got a boy with a creative mind and a love of video games, not theories and medicine.

Ray's parents accepted his choice of major with gritted teeth and set strict guidelines: his lowest grade could be a B+, he had to study in his spare time, and he had to leave his Xbox and his TV at home. So he made the most of his laptop, using it as a machine to write papers on as well as a platform to catch up on any television he was missing and play any games that his old dinosaur could support graphics-wise. It was mostly just online flash games, but they staved off the need to compete until he could go home some weekends and convince his parents that he didn't need to study and could play Xbox.

Hunter allowed him to have some freedom and Ray couldn't have been more enthusiastic about his new found independence. Without a roommate (another guideline his parents had set forth), he could sleep in the nude all he wanted and not have to worry about having a kleptomaniac who stole his pillows or anything else when he left on the weekends. That being said, he sometimes felt lonely. He hadn't really attempted to make friends with anyone that lived on his dorm floor: they had Xbox LAN tournaments out in the lobby some nights, but Ray just felt like he didn't belong with the crowd that was cheering each other on.

Then again, he knew that he couldn't remain in the solitary confines of his room forever.

It was around 10:00 pm on a Tuesday night when he heard a loud voice echo from the lobby.

“That's BULLSHIT, I fucking shot you first!”

Halo, he thought to himself as he stood up from his desk and padded across the linoleum. He took a deep breath as he ventured out into the hallway, following the geometric patterns in the coarse carpet to the set of stairs that were connected to the half-floor's lobby.

Ray peered up through the railings, recognizing the guy with the curly hair and beanie who was violently gesturing to the television screen, shaking his controller at a spiky-haired counterpart who just laughed.

 _The Jersey kid_. He felt himself climbing the stairs, and before he realized it, Michael was pointing at him.

“Hey, sorry if we woke you, man,” Michael said, the guy next to him chuckling.

“It's ten, I'm not sorry if we woke him,” the stranger said, his British accent a shock to Ray. His admissions representative had spoken of exchange students but he had yet to meet one.

Ray shook his head, “No, you didn't wake me.” He stared everywhere but at Michael as his voice trailed off, suddenly overcome with a sense of panic. What was he doing out here? They had never hung out before, why would they magically start?

Michael took his seat on the loveseat next to the British kid, pausing the game they were playing.

“If you want to play with us you can, you've just got to wait until we can set-up a different match,” Michael informed him, breaking the tension that seemed to build up a wall between them.

“Okay, cool,” Ray feigned a weak smile as he took a seat on the couch perpendicular to Michael and his friend.

“Hey, you're in my drawing class, right?” Michael asked, Ray nodding.

“Yeah, it fucking sucks,” the brunette continued, “And I swear to fuckin' God if Lane talks about Wayne Thiebaud one more time I'm gonna to hurl.” Michael rolled his eyes.

Ray laughed, the sound almost foreign as it fell from his lips. He felt a slight tightness in his chest, like he was about freeze up and all of his muscles simultaneously tickled and wanted to explode.

“Lane cracks me up, though,” Ray added, “Even when he's railing me about my gesture drawings.”

Michael made a face, “Ew dude, you let him rail you?”

Ray laughed even harder, “No, if that happened I'd probably be getting a better grade.”

The Brit who had remained silent during the exchange pretended to vomit, scrunching his face up and coughing.

Michael burst out laughing at his friend, Ray relaxing as they all laughed together.

“I'm Gavin, the resident British student,” the stranger introduced himself, holding his hand out for Ray to shake it.

“I'm Ray, I'm Puerto Rican and my parents live less than a half-hour away in Queens,” he returned his greeting, shaking the Brit's hand.

“One of those cheeky New Yorkers. You and Michael have a lot in common, then,” Gavin pointed at the two of them, “With your subways and your accents.”

Michael shrugged, “New Jersey is just New York's step-sibling. We're tougher and louder.”

“I don't know, I'm pretty loud,” Ray joked, Michael scoffing.

“We've been in class for a few weeks now and I've heard you speak once before these last five minutes. You're the next major motivational speaker, Ray,” the brunette smirked at his own joke.

“Joke's on you, I'm a public speaking major and I just like to save my voice!”

They laughed again, Gavin picking up the controller that had been resting in his lap.  
“Alright lads, now that we've made friends, let's destroy each other in Halo.”

Ray nodded, “No hard feelings when I slaughter you both.”

Ray's two new friends glared at him, watching carefully as he smiled and picked up the third controller.

“Halo is my shit.”

\-----

Gesture drawing, however, was not Ray's shit. No matter what technique he tried: drawing from the wrist, drawing from the elbow, drawing from the shoulder, never looking at his paper... Lane just looked at his drawing pad and sighed, scribbling something on a clipboard.

And then the old man would take two steps to Ray's right and look over _Ryan's_ shoulder at his drawing and smile. It never failed. And Ray would furrow his eyebrows and switch up his drawing method, hoping that the next time Lane circled around he would be pleased. But it never worked.

If he couldn't even pass drawing, how the hell was he supposed to make it in the rest of his studio classes?  
Ray was lost in thought when Lane cleared his throat, the class looking up from the still life in front of them to their professor.

“I'm thinking that next class period you need to have a matted mixed media drawing of yourself. I want you to look in the mirror and draw what you see. Don't take a picture with your damn cell phone and draw that. Draw from life. If any of you come in here without it done, you're out of my classroom and you're not participating in the critique that day.”

Ray continued scribbling at the edge of his paper, ferociously trying to lay down the charcoal lines as Lane kept talking.

“Ray, since you're continuing to draw while I'm talking, I want you to pin whatever you're drawing up on the board for the class to critique right now.”

Ray froze, the knot in his stomach growing about two sizes as all eyes in the classroom were on him. He could feel the gaze of Ryan, the studio arts major standing beside him, ready to tear him apart. He looked to Michael, whose lips were pressed together in a line. He tried to clear his throat as he tore the paper along its perforated edge, hoping that someone would point out that they were running out of class time. If he stalled any longer, he thought people might just start leaving.

But they didn't. Instead they sat on the benches attached to their easels, ready to talk about Ray's work.

He nervously pinned up his unfinished drawing, standing next to the newsprint as he rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his thighs.

“Well, what do you have to say about your drawing?” Lane pressed, his arms crossed over his chest.

At the moment, the only thing Ray was drawing was a blank. He took another deep breath, scratching the back of his head.

“Uh.. It's just a gesture drawing of the still life set up today,” Ray explained, pointing to the different objects that were drawn on the page, “I've had a little difficulty making everything proportional....”

“I'll say,” Lane spoke out, moving to the critique board and tapping the center of the drawing with his pencil.

“What made you choose this composition?” The older gentleman gestured over the surface, Ray shrugging and folding his arms.

“I just wanted to do more of a close-up drawing, focusing on certain aspects of the still life.”

Lane glanced between the still life and Ray's drawing, marking a large portion of Ray's work with an X.

“You know, you've really missed the mark on this one. I have a feeling you chose this composition because it was a way to keep the more difficult objects of the still life out of the drawing. Does anyone have anything to add?”

Ray looked helplessly at his classmates, hoping someone would save him from the onslaught that Lane would have no problem with continuing to deliver. He briefly made eye contact with Ryan, who had a small smile on his face.

_Oh right, the fucking studio arts major is making fun of me. Go figure._

That was until Ryan started to speak and Ray immediately looked at the floor.

“Lane, I feel like Ray's composition is actually really unique and an interesting approach to the boring still life you set out today,” Ryan said confidently, Ray swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Really?” Lane replied, “Why do you say that?”

“Instead of taking the basic head-on approach that so many of us drew, Ray was able to single out the things he knew he could make look good and present them in the best way that he could. You can't be mad because he tried.”

Holy shit, Ray thought. This guy just stood up for me.

“I guess you're right,” Lane replied, “I just don't agree with the application of the charcoal and the squiggly, hairy looking lines. I'm not in the business to teach squiggles.”

Ryan shrugged, the conversation now just between the two of them.

“With all due respect sir, I feel like Ray's squiggles are just fine.”

Ray silently thanked every god, prophet, and deity he could think of in that moment.

Lane studied the drawing a little bit longer before just nodding.

“Don't forget your matted drawings for Friday.”

The class gathered up their materials, most of the students in a hurry to grab lunch before their next class. Ray paced himself as everyone else rushed out of the room, debating whether or not he should thank Ryan.

Part of him just wanted to strike up a conversation with him, just to hear the fading Southern drawl as he spoke. As he slung his backpack onto his shoulders, he mentally berated himself as Ryan continued packing his bag. Ray knew he didn't have any other reason to stall now. 

“Thank you,” Ray blurted, the noise unexpected as it startled both him and the other student.

Ryan smiled up from his seat on the bench.

“Thanks for what?” He asked, Ray starting to feel the heat in his cheeks and the tightness in his chest. He hoped he wasn't blushing.

“For sticking up for me against Lane. I didn't know how much of it I could take.”

Ryan grinned wider, picking up his bag.

“Don't mention it. Lane takes a while to get used to, but once you warm up to him, he's an alright guy.”

Ryan started walking toward the door, Ray pausing before following behind him. He let Ryan hold the door open for him, and thanked him again.

“Are you heading to lunch now?” Ryan asked, Ray suddenly forgetting anything he had planned.

“Yeah, I'm just gonna go to the cafeteria and grab something to go. I have class at one,” he explained, Ryan nodding.

“Mind if I tag along?”

Ray couldn't muster anything to say, the words falling just short of his mouth. They fell into the pit of his stomach where they weighed heavily on his other organs.

“Or if not, that's cool too,” Ryan continued, his eyes widening as he looked at Ray.

“No, you can come along. It's a free country,” Ray responded, immediately feeling really stupid about what he said.

But Ryan laughed and he couldn't help but feel a tug at his heart at the sound: breathy, a little nasally, with a short burst of sound that slowly tapered after every breath.

“If you say so, Uncle Sam.”

Ray laughed at the joke and held the door open as they left the art building, heading in the direction of the cafeteria. He'd never been one to question the idea of a friend joining him for lunch, but now he had so many things running through his mind. Did Ryan even count as a friend? Was he an attractive classmate going to lunch with him? Or was he going to peel off and join his own group of friends once they reached the cafeteria? Did it count as a date?

“So are you a freshman or what's your deal?” Ryan asked, breaking the lull in the conversation and wrecking Ray's train of thought.

“Yeah, I'm a freshman. Hope that's okay. I know a lot of people think we're uncool,” he started to ramble, Ryan just chuckling at him.

“Why wouldn't it be okay? I'm a junior now, but I was a freshman once. So do you live in the dorms or at home?”

“I live in Hunter Hall actually. My parents had this weird rule that if I was going to study graphic design then I had to live by myself, on campus, and spend a lot of my free time studying,” Ray explained, his stomach at ease as he told about himself.

“Pretty strict folks, huh?” Ryan remarked, Ray laughing.

“They aren't too fond of their son, the art major. They'd love me more if I was cut out to be a doctor or a scientist, but bodily fluids make me nauseous and I'm not smart enough for physics,” Ray continued to ramble on, Ryan smiling at him.

“Feel free to tell me to shut up, you haven't said a word about yourself.”

_Or just shut me up, that's an option too._

“You're fine. I like listening to you talk. It's a big departure from hearing radio silence next to me in class.”

Ray blushed, closing his eyes and trying to will away the heat creeping up his cheeks. He wished that the city campus wasn't so sprawled out, so he could get some food to shove in his mouth so he would shut the fuck up.

“I'm a junior. I never took figure drawing because I was originally just a theater major but I picked up the studio arts major as well. And I live in an apartment a few blocks away from campus. It's pretty cool. If you do ever feel like not studying your life away, you could come by and we could play some video games with my roommates or something. I think you'd really get along with those guys.”

Ray reached for the door of the student center, surprised when Ryan grabbed the heavy glass door at a spot above his head, holding it open.

“Go,” he ushered Ray in, a wide smile on his face.

As they walked to the cafeteria, Ray kept stealing glances at Ryan, admiring him from this new point of view.

Something he hoped he get to do more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your interest in the story! More to come soon! Title comes from "Moon River" by Henry Mancini/Andy Williams.


	3. Dreaming Up Conversations We'll Have Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Apply that tender, gentle touch to your life and see how everything softens up for you."

While figure drawing was a kick in the dick, Ray was starting to get the hang of things in his ceramics class. He found himself gravitating to the pottery wheel, taking the dexterity he'd used hammering a controller and translating it into a soft and caring touch once his pieces started to form. He'd spend hours sitting on the stool, throwing and rethrowing various bowls and vases until things were absolutely perfect. Then he'd spend just as much time after his pieces were first fired to glaze them and make each of them unique.

During a critique, his professor had pointed out one of his pieces and made a positive example of him, something Ray was not accustomed to.

“Look at what Mr. Narvaez is doing at the wheel. The curves, forms... How everything comes together in such a beautiful shape! Apply that to your work. Apply that tender, gentle touch to your life and see how everything softens up for you. You don't have to be an expert ceramicist to pass my class once you start, but you do have to improve upon your work throughout the semester.”

Ray averted his gaze as everyone in the classroom stared at him, some perplexed after what Professor Glan had said. He shrugged it off and continued to work the pot in front of him with a clay tool, removing some clay to create an intricate design along the foot. 

It wasn't until he looked up again that he came face to face with Ryan, who must have snuck into his classroom at some point unbeknownst to him.

“Hey,” the brunette greeted him, taking a seat on the stool across from him.

“Hey, uh, Ryan,” Ray started, looking nervously around the room, “Isn't Lee going to say something about you being in here?”

Ryan shrugged his shoulders and laughed, “He won't care. Besides, he's too busy jamming out to his music to even notice,” Ryan turning to look over his shoulder, Ray following in succession and watching as his professor bobbed his head to whatever music he was listening to on his headphones that were sitting on top of his spiked gray hair. His hoop earring in his left ear seemed to bounce in time with the music, even though Ray couldn't hear it.

“He kills me some times,” Ryan said, turning his gaze back to Ray. 

Ray's hand slipped when he made eye contact with Ryan, his clay tool jabbing into the foot of his pot.

“Goddamnit,” he mumbled, tossing the tool down and trying to smooth out the area he had wrecked by hand

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract you,” Ryan apologized, Ray shaking his head.

“It's fine, you didn't distract me. I just think I had a brain lapse or something.”

_I hate when you look at me like that, you jerk._

“Have you given any thought to maybe coming over to my apartment sometime and hanging out?”

It had almost been a week since Ryan had mentioned it- during the first time they ate lunch together in the cafeteria. Of course Ray had thought about it, and he weighed the pros and cons of the situation. 

He was mostly worried about what his stomach felt like every time he looked at Ryan, because it was not a normal platonic friendship reaction to look at someone and have your stomach leap around the rest of your internal organs to try to pry its way out because someone makes you so fucking nervous.

It wasn't normal to look at your friend while they're in their element and imagine how they could put their skills to use on you- from the way their hands moved across the paper, sketching quick lines that served as a ground to the minute details they worked in with delicate touches and nimble fingers. To stare at them as they concentrated so hard on what was in front of them.

“Yeah, I'd thought about it.” Ray answered, eyes on his piece and avoiding Ryan's gaze.

“And?” Ryan pressed, Ray suddenly feeling hot and like he could just melt away into a pool of nothing.

“I'm free tonight,” Ray offered, wondering where he had found his voice.

“I could swing by your dorm room and pick you up before my theater workshop, around 3:00. And if Ursula doesn't cancel the class, you could just hang out with my roommates. Does that sound okay?”

Ray nodded, “That sounds fine by me.” He had fixed the edge he had ruined, returning with the clay tool to finish the pattern he had been creating.

Ryan smiled, standing up from the stool.

“Great, then it's a date.”

At that point, Ray stabbed himself in the hand with his clay tool and reeled away in pain.

_Fuck._

“Awesome,” he carried out the word as Ryan walked away, hurrying over to the sink to wash his hand off. Thankfully it was just an abrasion, and he would live to see another day.

He ran his hand under cold water, the temperature a shock to his flushed system. He still wasn't feeling like what had happened was actually what had occurred.

_Maybe it was just a joke? People say “It's a date” for a lot of reasons, mostly to declare that something was planned. It didn't have to actually mean that it was a date, per se._

Ray grabbed a paper towel to wipe his hands dry, trying to think of ways to stop his mind from racing. He put his pot on the shelf marked with his name, storing his tools and hanging up his apron. Ray needed to get back to his dorm room and clean it up before his “Basics of Web Design” class, especially if Ryan would be stopping by later on.

\- - -

Cleaning his room wasn't a difficult task. Listening to his advisor slash professor Jordan talk for an hour and trying to comprehend what he was saying was what proved to be difficult. All he could think about was Ryan and his dumb blue eyes and the stupid warm smile he always had on his face. Ray had never been one to be afraid of finding a guy attractive. He had eyes and could tell if someone was attractive. Ray was afraid of the fact he was _attracted to_ Ryan. He would even venture to say that given the chance, he could develop feelings for him.

And that was scary as hell. 

While Jordan repeatedly warned about future quizzes and the fact that HTML stood for hyper text mark-up language, Ray stared at the clock on the computer in front of him. He was willing the time to change faster, trying to not let his nerves get the best of him. He'd hung out with plenty of guys in high school in a strictly platonic way, what made this any different?

_Oh, yeah. Ryan._

He evened out his breathing when Jordan said that class was dismissed, making a note of the time on his computer as he shut down the monitor.

 _2:50._ He had ten minutes to cross campus and settle in his room before Ryan showed up. Ray pushed past his classmates that were filing out of the door, muttering an “Excuse me.” when he heard someone scoff.

Ray made it back to his dorm room at 2:55, hurling his backpack onto the empty bed across the room. He stood in front of his closet mirror, straightening his shirt out and wiping sweat from his forehead. He lifted his arm, doing a quick sniff test to make sure he still smelled okay after running almost two blocks.

_Okay dumbass, don't fuck this up. If it's just a couple friends hanging out, then that's cool. Ryan's a cool guy. You're a cool guy._

A knock on the door broke him out of his frantic mantra and he let out a cracked “Come in!” as he pulled a hoodie over his head.

Ryan poked his head through the door, smiling at Ray.

“Hey, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I am,” Ray stuffed his wallet and keys into his back pocket and followed Ryan out.

“So remember when I said my apartment was a couple blocks away?” Ryan started, Ray nodding.

“I lied. We've got to take a cab,” Ryan walked to the edge of the sidewalk from Ray's dorm building, pointing to where the cab was waiting.

“C'mon man, the meters running!”

Ray hurried to the yellow taxi where Ryan had jogged around to the other side before climbing in.

“Hey Ryan, same spot?” The cabbie asked, finishing wiping off his glasses.

“Yeah, heading back to the apartment. Burnie, this is my friend, Ray,” Ryan spoke to the cab driver, who looked in the rearview mirror before giving a little wave.

“Nice to meet you, kid. Are you from New York?”

“I was born and raised in Queens, but this is the first time I've ever been in a cab.”

Burnie laughed, putting on his blinker before merging into traffic.

“Never been in a cab, the shit I hear every day...” His voice trailed off and Ray settled against the backseat, looking over at Ryan every so often.

“You take a cab everyday?” Ray asked, Ryan shaking his head.

“Some days when it's not dreary I'll walk, or ride my bike. It's just so much more easier to have someone drive you though,” he pointed out, Ray silently agreeing with him.

“How long have you been a cab driver?” Ray asked, wondering if it was okay to do so.

“A few years now. I came to New York from Austin, Texas with the idea of making it in the movie business. I audition for roles here and there, been thinking of starting my own production company. I drive a taxi about twelve hours a day and then I go home to my wife and kids. It's not a bad gig and the work is steady.”

Ryan chuckled, “Yeah, I keep feeding you twenties for the lift from 8th avenue to Park.”

“Saves you from walking an hour though,” Burnie retorted, laughing at his own wit.

Ray smiled at the way the two interacted, wondering if they just talked about life on the rides to and from the campus. Ryan seemed like an old soul, and Burnie was young enough to know what was happening in the world.

The cab came to a stop outside of a very rustic looking, brick building with arch windows and a burgundy awning above the doorway. Ryan handed Burnie twenty bucks and the cab driver told him to “Take it easy”. Ray climbed out of the cab and Ryan joined him on the sidewalk, motioning for him to walk forward.

“It's not the Ritz-Carlton, but it's the closest apartment my friends and I could afford that the college offered as alternative housing.”

Ray tried to keep from staring at the front desk clerk as they crossed the stone floor of the lobby and headed for a staircase, Ryan starting his ascent.

“We're on the 4th floor. I'd tell you there's an elevator but I don't want you to get your hopes crushed. It only works on certain days.”

Ray followed Ryan closely, trying not to sound winded as he climbed up the stairs.

_Just keep telling yourself it was just the first flight. Then when you reach the top, it will be cause for celebration._

They cleared the landing on the third floor and Ray cheered as they drew near to the fourth floor, happy that Ryan continued walking once he reached the top of the flight of stairs instead of turning to go up another set.

Ray counted the doors as he walked down the hallway. When they reached the ninth door on the right, Ryan paused and turned the handle. He walked inside the door, Ray studying his surroundings as he followed Ryan into his apartment.

Two guys were sitting on a sofa that was to the right of the entrance, facing a TV as they played some video game Ray didn't recognize. They both turned around, nodding at Ryan before returning to the screen.

“Guys, this is my friend, Ray,” Ryan spoke up, the screen pausing as his roommates turned around.

“Hey I'm Adam,” the guy with the beard introduced himself, giving Ray a small wave.

“Yeah and I'm Joel,” the other guy on the couch introduced himself, his gaze shifting between Ryan and Ray.

“What are you guys playing?” Ray asked, still not able to identify the game.

“It's _Left 4 Dead_ , we're playing co-op and we're slaying some zombies,” Adam explained, “It's really easy to get the hang of if you want to play.”

Ray shrugged, looking to Ryan who was walking toward one of the three closed doors.

“I've got to check my e-mail and see if Ursula cancelled my workshop yet.”

“Or, you could just skip class once in your life,” Joel spoke, “We've been friends for almost three years and you haven't been sick once. You're a goddamn robot, Haywood.”

Ryan chuckled at his friend before disappearing into his room, leaving Ray to stand back and watch as Adam and Joel resumed playing.

“Shit, did you hear that?” Adam asked, Ray focusing on the bottom screen where Adam's character was turning around and around.

“The witch noise? Yeah, I was trying to ignore it.”

“I'm gonna startle her,” Adam replied, Joel rolling his eyes.

“If you die again I'm not reviving you,” Joel informed his counterpart, Ray laughing at Adam's sigh.

“Whatever dude, you're the worst at this anyway.”

Ray looked around the apartment, taking in the different sights. To his left was a nice kitchen with basic appliances as well as some he couldn't identify. All the countertops were flecked black and white marble, similar to the ones his mom had at home. There was an island with three metal seats in front of it, as well as pots and pans rack hanging above it. For a college apartment in a sketchy building, everything seemed really modern and well-kept. 

He couldn't help but imagine Ryan making him dinner, careful throughout all the stages of the meal from planning to preparation. He'd help wash the dishes after, and then they'd cuddle on the sofa and watch a movie.

Ray stared down at the hardwood flooring, letting the sole of his shoe glide gently over the smooth surface. Of course his apartment was nice. Everything about Ryan was nice.

“Ursula didn't cancel,” Ryan's voice grabbed his attention and he frowned, realizing that Ryan's class was going to be infringing on his time with him.

“I guess it was my bad for assuming she would. Ray, if you want to hang out with Joel and Adam then be my guest. I've gotta get back to campus by 4:15,” Ryan glanced at his watch, “which is a half-hour away.” He moved past Ray, opening the door before turning around to look at Ray and then at Joel and Adam.

“Don't believe whatever they say,” Ryan offered, leaving the apartment and Ray alone with his roommates.

\- - -

“So a graphic design major?” Joel asked, taking a swig of the drink he had made himself.

Ray nodded, “Yeah. I'm a freshman and I live on campus.”

He'd been ushered into an armchair that was adjacent to the black sofa that Adam and Joel were sitting on. Joel shoved a can of Coke in his hand and had returned to his spot on the sofa, ready to apparently interrogate Ray.

“You live on campus? But it's so expensive!” Adam remarked, “Did you have to sell a kidney to afford it or what?”

“No, my parents had a college fund for me, on top of the scholarships I received to go to Hunter. I'm hoping that by this time next year they'll let me live in my own place.”

“Do you have a job?” Joel asked, Adam giving him a funny look.

“I don't. I worked as a file clerk in high school at my Dad's office and any money I made from that I put into my bank account and left it there. It's not a lot of money, but it's there if I ever want something.”

“Do you wanna get high with us?” Joel pressed, Adam elbowing him in the side.

“Dude!”

Joel shrugged, “It was just a question. The kid's allowed to say no.”

“I've never smoked before,” Ray admitted, watching as Joel stood up and walked to each window, opening them all the way. He disappeared into one of the rooms down the short hall and returned with a tupperware bowl in his left hand and a tower fan in his right one. Joel set the fan down on the ground facing the windows, plugging the cord into the surge protector that poked out from underneath the black coffee table. He placed his tupperware bowl on the surface of the coffee table, digging in his hoodie pocket and producing a lighter.

“I hope you don't mind, Ray,” Joel said, opening his container and unwrapping the sock that was inside. As the fabric unrolled, Joel pulled out a small metal can from the tube sock and set it next to the container. He retrieved a blue glass object out of the bowl, which Ray assumed was the pipe. Ray watched carefully as Joel started taking apart the metal can, revealing its green contents. Joel rifled through the small pieces of plant with his fingertips, as if feeling the texture before placing bit after bit in the opening of the pipe.

Ray was completely silent as he watched his new friend complete his act like he was composing a grand symphony. He did everything with such flair and precision, making sure the bowl was evenly packed before picking up his lighter again.

“This is a spoon pipe. It's got a little screen in the bowl,” he gestured with his pinky, swirling his hand holding the lighter around the pipe, “It's good for a first timer.” He smirked as he handed Ray the pipe, Adam visibly uncomfortable as Ray took it into his hand and then grabbed the lighter with the other.

“Calm down, Adam. He's not a rat. Are you?” Joel questioned, Ray shaking his head fervently.

He'd never imagined that he'd be smoking weed ever. And now was his opportunity. It was almost irony in a way- an art major who had never tried cannabis. He wondered if this is what Ryan did when he hung out with Joel and Adam.

“Okay, so you see that little notch there in the glass?”

Ray tried not to fumble the pipe as he identified the spot where Joel was pointing to. He ran his finger over the curved edge of the pipe, letting the pad of his index finger rest on the 'notch' Joel had identified.

“Like, the hole?”

Joel nodded, “Yeah that's the choke. You gotta hold your finger on that when you take a hit, otherwise the airflow is gonna to be all screwy.”

At first, Joel sounded like he knew what he was talking about when describing the pipe. Adding his colorful and absurd language as he talked through the process, however, made him sound as much of a rookie as Ray was. 

“Hold the lighter over the bowl, light it, and breathe in. You'll want to hold the smoke in your lungs as long as you can, but I would suggest you don't inhale. Then move the fire because I don't want you ashin' all my weed.”

Ray nodded, putting the pipe up to his lips. He felt like he was about to pull a trigger as he thumbed over the wheel of the lighter. Ray pressed his thumb down, letting the wheel turn and a spark happen. He held the flame over the bowl as Joel instructed, his grip on the pipe tight and his left thumb covering the choke like his life depended on it. Ray breathed in, the smoke filling his mouth and filing down his throat like he'd swallowed a bunch of razors. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced and he closed his eyes, counting in his head as he held the smoke in his chest.

_Five.....four....three...two..one._

He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke filter out of his mouth and when he opened his eyes again, Adam and Joel were staring at him like he'd just grown a second head.

“Dude, what the hell was that?” Joel asked him, Ray coughing a little bit and all too aware of the sudden dryness in his mouth. 

“You just looked like you drifted out of conciousness from one hit,” Adam added, Ray just cracking a smile and shrugging his shoulders.

He handed the pipe back to Joel who took a hit, then passed it to Adam who did the same. When the pipe made its way back to Ray, he was more than enthusiastic to take the next hit. And the one after. And finally a fourth hit before Joel declared that the bowl was 'cashed'.

Ray watched as he flipped the pipe over and hit it on his hand, letting the ashes fall onto the coffee table before scraping them off onto the floor.

“Do you feel anything?” Joel wondered, Ray having gone completely quiet.

He didn't know how to respond, or how Joel wanted him to respond, so he just started talking.

“I feel a lot of things. Right now I feel good, but I know in a few hours I'm just going to be left feeling empty. I feel like I'm just floating now but I'll be sinking soon. I feel like I'm out of place and I don't know how to show my feelings. I feel like I'm really into Ryan but I don't know how he feels. That's the real question, how does Ryan feel?”

Adam looked at him dumbfounded before turning to Joel, who just started laughing.

“Jesus Christ, I think weed is your truth serum!” Joel cackled, holding his sides as he continued his outburst.

Ray giggled, relaxing into the armchair before realizing what he'd just said.

“Holy shit, please don't tell Ryan,” he pleaded, sitting forward as his admission sobered him up a little bit.

“Tell him what? That you're _feeling_?” Adam joked, and Ray wanted to punch his beard off of his face.

“We won't tell him. But I bet you if you're still high when he gets back, you'll be telling him yourself,” Joel informed him and Ray stood up, his heart beating too loudly.

“I've gotta go. It was nice meeting you guys,” he spoke, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Joel asked, raising an eyebrow as Ray reached for the doorknob.

“I've got to get back to campus before I say something stupid to Ryan. Tell him I'll catch him later,” Ray left the apartment in a hurry, hustling down the steps. He reached the ground floor, trying to catch his breath. After a quick glance at his watch he realized that it was already six and Ryan would be getting back soon. He stood out in front of the apartment building, debating whether to walk or take a cab. He'd definitely not run into Ryan if he took a cab, because he'd be back and tucked into his dorm room before Ryan was out of theater workshop.

He wondered what Joel and Adam would say to Ryan about why he'd left so quickly. Hopefully they'd tell him that Ray had gotten sick and left, not that he'd gotten super paranoid after smoking part of a bowl of weed and admitted that he might like him.

Ray stood at the edge of the sidewalk and dug in his wallet, hoping he'd have cab fare for the way back. He waved his arm at the oncoming slew of yellow cars, glad when one finally stopped and he could climb inside.

“Hunter College, please,” he declared, winded and worn out but thankful he was tucked inside the cab.

If he hung out with Ryan again, he hoped Ryan would actually be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued readings, kudos, and comments! Y'all make me smile. Title comes from "Apartment" by Modern Baseball.


	4. It's The Way You Blush When You're Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you just stop talking?”

It had been two weeks since Ray had a full conversation with Ryan. He constantly berated himself, wondering if he had blown any chance he had with him. During drawing class, Ryan would put headphones in, something he'd never done before, and sketch furiously. No matter what the subject matter, Ryan looked at it with a mixture of disgust and discomfort.

He understood that it was gesture drawing, but the only gesture Ray gathered from Ryan's attitude was a giant middle finger. Ray tried to peek over at Ryan's drawing pad, but the other student had turned his easel at an angle that Ray couldn't see what he was working on.

 _Okay, what the fuck?_

When Lane said it was time for class to be over, Ryan packed his things up as quickly as possible and left without even glancing his direction. The weird silence flung Ray back to the first few weeks of class, when he pretended Ryan didn't exist solely to ruin his life with his presence.

He followed after Ryan, trying to hurry along knowing Ryan would be eating lunch before his ceramics class at 1 and he had a small window.

 _Be assertive_ , he told himself. He had matched pace with Ryan, following a step or two behind him and just barely within arm's length. Ray reached out to tap Ryan on the shoulder, the other male stopping abruptly and turning around faster than Ray could slow down. He collided with Ryan, sending himself careening to the ground ass first. Ryan stood there, body language unchanging even after the direct hit.

Ryan looked down at Ray, his expression changing as he removed one of his earbuds.

“Damn Ray, I'm sorry,” Ryan apologized as he offered his hand for Ray to grab it.

He reluctantly reached up, letting Ryan help hoist him to his feet.

“It's cool,” Ray brushed himself off, taking a deep breath when he felt like he might fall over again. He had Ryan's undivided attention, and he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

“You alright?” Ryan asked, breaking Ray's thought stream up.

“Uh, yeah,” Ray stammered, scratching the back of his head.

“Sorry I've been so out of it,” Ryan apologized again, filling the gaps in the conversation where Ray avoided speaking, “It's just, I've been so nervous with my show coming up and I've been really frustrated with every piece I've been working on. Sorry I had class the night you came over,” Ryan continued, Ray just shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“I mean, I kind of bailed on you too,” Ray admitted, Ryan chuckling.

“Yeah, Joel mentioned you're quite the talker when you're high,” Ryan replied, Ray's face immediately draining of color.

 _Oh God, oh man, oh God, oh man._

“Said you were talking about feelings or something?”  
Ray felt the knot in his throat, trying to gauge whether or not he'd throw up if he tried to say anything.

“I didn't take you as the sentimental type, Ray,” Ryan laughed again, Ray feeling the heat in his cheeks rise.

_Cool, now I'm blushing? Smooth as FUCK, Narvaez._

“Listen, I'm just joking,” Ryan added when he noted Ray's discomfort, “I know how you feel, Ray.”

“Excuse me?” Ray's knees were buckling, suddenly feeling like he was shouldering the weight of the world as Ryan spoke.

“I mean, I'm not stupid, Ray. And you're not very subtle,” Ryan continued, Ray looking everywhere but at Ryan.

Ray took a deep breath, ready to explain his side of the story. Ready to lie and say he had fumbled his words.

“I don't know what you want from me, Ray.”

The smaller man shrugged his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I didn't think you'd ever figure it out, I guess. So I don't know what I want either,” Ray replied, his voice as small as he felt.

_I know what I fuckin' want, you dumb, stupid, beautiful idiot._

“We don't know each other too well, so I don't want to mess up what friendship we have, and I'm really busy righ-”

“Can you just stop talking?” Ray cut in, turning around to walk away from the situation.

It had been honestly the weirdest few minutes of his life. His crush had found out he liked him, then analyzed the entire situation and turned him down. Ryan fucking spiked his heart like a football in the other team's endzone. 

But as he walked away, he hoped that Ryan was following behind him, ready to stop him at a moment's notice and to just DO SOMETHING. 

“Ray, don't be so dramatic,” Ryan had caught up to him and circled in front of him. He put his hands on either side of Ray's neck, the heels of his hands flat against his skin. Ryan's hands dwarfed his shoulders as they slid into place, his thumbs pressing against the protruding end of his collarbones.

“I feel like a huge fucking idiot,” Ray mumbled, Ryan raising an eyebrow at him.

“Why? Because I didn't immediately ask you to date me? I never said it was out of the cards, it's just not a good time.”

Ray rolled his eyes, “That's such a bullshit excuse. Just tell me you're not into dudes or something. Something that will make it easier to hear.”

“Because I'm not about to stand here and lie to you, Ray. Give me two weeks,” he added, “Two weeks and you'll come to my show when it opens and we'll go out afterwards. Okay?”

Ray slowly nodded in agreement.

“But you can't avoid me until then,” Ryan said, his thumbs tapping on Ray's shoulders, “You have to still be my friend.”

Ray snorted, “Yeah, like I'd do anything else.”

Ryan grinned, releasing Ray from his gentle grasp.

“Cool then, let's grab lunch.”

\- - -

It's not like he had counted down the days until Ryan's show. He hadn't marked it on his calendar on his desk, crossing off each day until the box that read “DATE NIGHT”. Well, at least he wouldn't admit it to Ryan.

Ray had asked all the questions about Ryan's show: _Where is it? What do I wear? How many people are going to be there? How important is it?_ etc, until Ryan eventually told him to just wear something other than the same purple hoodie he wore all the time.

So as Ray dressed for Ryan's gallery opening, he changed a multitude of times before finally digging out the only unwrinkled white button-down shirt he could find hanging in his closet. He shrugged his shoulders into it, trying to figure out if he wanted to wear a tie or not.

_I only have a fucking black tie. I'm gonna look like a goddamn Mormon._

He haphazardly tied his tie around his neck and tucked it beneath his collar. Ray glanced in the mirror, scoffing at how stupid he looked. He rolled his sleeves up, pushing the bundle of material just above the crook of his elbow. Something to off-set his overall Catholic school-boy look. After another deep sigh he finally gave up and grabbed his jacket, wallet and keys, stuffing the latter things in his pockets.

The gallery where Ryan's exhibition was being hosted was a ten-minute walk, so he paced himself so he'd arrive just before Ryan gave his little talk about his pieces. Enough to hone in on the snacks and whatever free drinks were available.

He'd been thinking about what was going to happen after Ryan's gallery opening. Ryan had promised him that they would go out.

 _Dinner? A movie?_ Nothing was specified. He knew Ryan was nervous about his opening- he watched the usually laid-back guy start to sketch furiously, become increasingly agitated, and gnaw on his fingernails like it was his last meal almost every other day while they were in class. He could understand the mounting pressure. Ryan was a studio arts major about to open a show in a contemporary art gallery where his work could be openly critcized or rejoiced, purchased or lie worthless.

The place where the show was simple: a decently-sized smooth-sided gray building with several windows where people passing by could peek in. A contemporary design for a contemporary gallery. Ray peered through one of the windows as he passed by, noticing the amount of people gathered around in the foyer behind a red velvet rope. Monochromatic outfits, people in white shirts, black shirts, gray dresses, white suits, black suits, black dresses. A contrast to the work that lined the walls.

He couldn't see Ryan though. He pulled the glass door open, scanning the room for people he recognized. Of course Lane, his favorite professor, was there. He also spotted Michael deep in conversation with a guy he'd never seen before- tall, with slumped shoulders and blue, sleepy eyes that mimicked his bored stance. But Michael was clearly interested in whatever his forlorn friend had to say.

Ray headed for the buffett table, picking and choosing hors d'oeuvres as he went along. 

He froze with his hand gripping his plate tightly and his other hand about to smash his glass of punch when a pair of hands touched his shoulders.

“I knew you owned something other than the purple hoodie...”

He smiled at the sound of the familiar voice, visibly relaxing as he turned to speak to Ryan.

 _Jesus_ , he bit the inside of his cheek at the sight of Ryan in a suit jacket. Fitted, navy blue, tailored to Ryan's body shape and _holy shit_ , he cut his hair too. Ray felt like a fourteen-year old fan who bumped into their favorite celebrity. Everything he was wearing framed his shape, like he was one of the works of art.

“You look great,” Ray managed to speak without stuttering, Ryan grinning as he reached forward and straightened Ray's tie.

“You're not looking so bad yourself, Ray,” he let his fingertips glide down the front of Ray's tie before stealing one of the strawberries off of his plate. Ryan bit into the berry, Ray watching with a shocked expression. He'd been attracted to Ryan. He'd spent a lot of time watching Ryan's mouth move, pout, frown, smile... but he'd never seen him do _that_. 

Ray audibly swallowed, Ryan dropping the leaves of the strawberry onto Ray's plate. Anything he could say had been wiped away from his mind.

“I've gotta give my talk, so just hang around and I'll catch up with you soon.” Ryan nodded at him before walking into the open space by the velvet rope, flashing a badge at the attendant. He was soon joined by another guy, a sharply dressed older man who smiled at Ryan and then turned to the crowd.

“Good evening everyone. I'd like to thank you all for coming out tonight. I'm Paul Gaglianone, owner of the space here and I'd like to introduce you to the man of the hour. He's a talented student from Hunter College and he's here to talk to you about his artwork...”

There was a small round of applause as the other man gestured to Ryan, who rocked a little on his feet.

“Thank you, Paul. I'm Ryan Haywood and I'm honored to have my work displayed here at the Gaglianone gallery. As a student, I often find it hard to balance my time between school, work, and any means of having a social life...” Ryan's voice started to blend together like a symphony Ray never wanted to stop listening to, the low dulcet tones making it hard for him to concentrate.

“In my artwork I like to combine elements of gesture drawings and detailed work to create a new blend of art. Something that mimics the way I blend my life and still make it work. The subject matter ranges from friends to strangers on the street. A lot of my friends don't know they're in my artwork, so it might come as a surprise to them,” Ryan stated, glancing directly at Ray.

He went on to talk about what art meant to him and how he couldn't thank Gaglianone enough for the opportunity. Ray stopped listening in favor of trying to see what Ryan could have possibly meant by his friends being in his artwork.

Everyone clapping stopped his search for any familiar imagery burned into Ryan's art. 

The velvet rope was lifted and everyone made their way around the gallery to look at the new exhibition. Ray hung back a little, not wanting to jump in the middle of the crowd of people flooding in. And wanting to bump into Ryan again before someone else snatched him away.

Ray sipped his punch as he walked around the gallery, declining the wine that a roaming waiter had offered him. He looked at the abstract art toward the front of the installation, squinting his eyes to look at value and colors, trying to guess what the meaning was behind each brush stroke. Ryan's abstract work was a lot of texture and color, multiple layers of paint on top of one another. He varied direction and angle, and a lot of times worked an area over several times before finishing a section. Ray never understood abstract art, noting that most of it looked hurried and like something anyone could do.

But looking at Ryan's work, he decided that maybe it took more work than just smearing paint on a canvas. He worked his way further into the gallery, coming across one of the matted figure drawings from Lane's class. It was a really detailed drawing of one of the models that had posed for them, a girl who had sat on a chair and looked over her right shoulder and off into the distance for almost two hours. She seemed unfazed, but Ray remembered feeling almost a phantom pain in his neck for her. The next drawing was smaller, one of their classmate Jesse, who had volunteered to pose on the day the paid model didn't show up. He had laid down on his side and faced the other direction, so the drawing was mostly a detailed show of the folds and pleats in his shirt and pants. Still incredible.

Ryan's artwork was disheartening to look at. He was so talented and the things hanging in the gallery were just a small glimpse into his skills and the application of them. It wasn't until Ray was at the end of the exhibition that he saw the large five-foot by four-foot painting on the far wall. Neutral washes for a background and foreground, and a very detailed rendering of hands working on a clay pot on the wheel. Hands with slender wrists, but capable palms and fingers. Ray's hands.

He glanced at his hand gripping his glass of punch and then back to the painting, as if he was second-guessing his initial thoughts. No, they were definitely his hands. Down to the finite detail of veins and the small scratch marks on his fingers he'd gained over the previous weeks from working at the wheel and with the different clay tools.

“Sorry I didn't say anything,” Ryan's voice was beside him, and Ray looked over at him.

“Why would you apologize for this? This is amazing, Ryan,” Ray retorted, gesturing to the painting in front of him, “Jesus Christ, dude. When did you even have time to do this?”

Ryan laughed, “I won't say I drew it from memory, but I had the concept imagined in my head as soon as I stood in front of this canvas. Then after the day I came into the pottery room and saw you working, I knew someone had to document it. So I wanted to show what you do best while you're working in the same format that you draw- by taking something of a larger scale and elevating what you could make look the best.”

Ray just grinned, “I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't even listening to half of what you said but I know it was important so I'll just nod,” he did as he said, Ryan smiling wider.

“You're cute,” Ryan remarked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

Ray blushed, trying to play it off with a pretend cough. He tried to determine if he should say the same thing to him when Ryan picked the conversation back up.

“I know I said we could go out tonight, but instead of going out to a restaurant, there's a party I want to go to in Brooklyn. My friend Geoff is throwing it and I want you to come with me,” Ryan told him, waiting for his response.

“That sounds great,” Ray agreed to offer, “I'm not over dressed am I?”

Ryan scoffed and gestured to his own outfit, “I'm wearing a suit jacket. You'll be fine. I've just got to wrap things up here and we can head out.”

He left Ray's side and went to talk to someone who had beckoned him over. Ray stood by himself again, giving the painting of his hands a last glance before turning to get some more punch. He bumped into Michael on his way to the buffett table.

“Dude, did you see that guy I was talking to earlier?” Michael asked him enthusiastically, Ray telling him that he had.

“He invited me to his party tonight in Brooklyn. Says he's throwing it for Ryan. I bet you could come too,” Michael suggested, Ray just simply nodding.

“I'll be there, don't worry about it,” Ray smirked, taking another drink, “Have you tried this punch? It's fantastic!”

Michael snorted and pointed to the punch bowl, “You mean the peaches and champagne? How many glasses of that have you had?” 

Ray gave Michael a horrified look, “I only had one and a half. Who let me have this?”

Michael laughed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You're so observant, dude. You're gonna be drinking your mineral spirits in painting at this rate...”

Ryan had reappeared and made his way to Ray, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You ready to go?” Ryan asked, nodding at someone as they thanked him when they passed.

“Yeah I've got to get out of here before I drink anymore booze,” Ray remarked, Ryan laughing really hard.

“Then you're definitely not going to like this party at Geoff's...”

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos and comments! This is my current baby and it's nice to see that people are liking it! Title from this chapter comes from "Lullaby" by The Spill Canvas.


	5. Listen, You Are My Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's only a bad idea if you make it one.”

Akin to Ryan's immaculate apartment, Geoff's was a fucking palace. Decorated in a kind of way you only see in Better Homes and Gardens magazines. There's no way Geoff had done all the decorating; it had to be a furnished apartment. And the rent had to be ridiculous. Ray hadn't paid attention to where the cab driver had taken him and Ryan, but he knew that by a quick glance at the meter that the fare was over forty bucks. The extravagant apartment with its hardwood flooring and marble countertops and stupidly nice furniture. Stuff that didn't deserve to have cheap liquor spilled all over it, which was what Ray had witnessed about half a dozen times that night.

Ray had been pacing around, trying to distance himself from the crowd but always falling into the middle of it. He'd gotten lost in the space of the apartment, trying to navigate around people and furniture. At one point he had been able to squeeze onto the patio for some fresh air. He was waiting around for Ryan, having lost sight of him when he had left the kitchen. 

The music was so loud. The people trying to talk over the music were so loud. He stared at the cracked concrete beneath his feet, kicking a loose rock out of the way. The patio was dimly-lit, strings of lights zig-zagging above the party-goers. Ray squinted at the lights, watching the color start to blur into just an orb.

If he could just block the music from blaring in his ears, he'd feel better. Navigating his first college party alone was really proving difficult. He leaned against the railing behind him, the cool metal's temperature working its way through the layers he was wearing and onto his skin.

He was starting to feel the alcohol. His face was hot, his lips were numb. Everything was a new sensastion. After the champagne and whatever other fruit concoction he drank as soon as he got to the party, he was definitely tipsy. The sip of beer he had once had at a friend's house paled in comparison, and his first buzz couldn't compare to what he was feeling. Ray was trying to find anyone he knew just to have someone to talk to. He'd looked around the patio but it was a lot of older people that he didn't recognize. One red-headed girl had smiled at him as he passed her, but she wasn't anyone he knew.

Ray was getting ready to weave his way back inside and out the front door when Michael staggered out of the kitchen, holding up a red plastic cup. Michael raised his glass as he made a bee-line towards Ray, using his free hand to make a finger-gun gesture at him.

"You really need to try this," Michael told him, shoving a drink in his hand.

He sipped the drink in his hand, sputtering at the taste that flooded his mouth. Somewhere between rubbing alcohol and Pinesol. Michael laughed at Ray's reaction, taking his cup back.

“Dude that tastes disgusting! How are you drinking that?” He asked in horror, Michael just grinning. 

“Ray, I can't feel my mouth and I can't find Geoff.” Michael started to sway, Ray grabbing his arm and holding onto the railing immediately behind him.

“No I'm fine, Ray. Let me go find Geoff,” Michael stumbled, Ray letting go of him so he could walk away.

 _Uh..._ He was panicking. He didn't know how to handle a drunk person while sober, let alone while he had been drinking. He'd never been given the chance to figure out how alcohol affected him. Ray watched as Michael awkwardly bumped into a guy and sloshed alcohol onto his back, not apologizing even when Michael passed him and the guy called him out for it.

“I'm sorry, you FUCK!” Michael yelled at the guy, who turned to look at Ray.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

The guy Michael had accidentally spilled booze on was at least four inches taller than him and had a giant beard and a stern look. A look that was fixed on Ray. Ray cleared his throat and put his hands up, watching as the guy crossed his arms over his chest.

He started walking over to Ray and Ray looked everywhere but at him, trying to pretend like he didn't see this hulking figure walking toward him.

“Is your friend okay?” The guy asked, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb in the direction Michael had been walking.

“I don't know,” Ray shrugged, “I don't even know if I'm okay at this point.”

The guy chuckled before putting his hand out for a shake.

“I'm Jack, Geoff's roommate,” he said as he shook Ray's hand.

“I'm Ray. Thank you for not curb-stomping me,” Ray replied, letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

Jack just laughed again, “So what brings you to our party tonight?”

Ray just looked at the ground, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I actually came here with Ryan but I haven't seen him in awhile...” Ray trailed off, looking past Jack, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man in question.

“So you're not here with your drunk friend?”

Ray shook his head, “Michael? No, Michael said Geoff invited him here.”

Jack's mouth gaped open a little bit, “Oh, so that must be the Michael that Geoff has been talking about.”

Ray looked at Jack, who had shifted a bit so he could look at Ray and at the people he had been standing with.

“Listen, if you need anything, just come find me,” Jack told him, “I've gotta get back to this conversation I was having.”

Ray nodded, “Thanks man.”

Jack rejoined his group, leaving Ray alone again.

He had to find Ryan. Ray headed for the kitchen door, brushing past a multitude of people he didn't recognize. The winding hallway of Geoff's apartment eventually lead to an open room where people were grouped, either chatting loudly or just drinking and having a good time. Ray pushed past a couple who were too busy making out, wandering hands and all. He approached the bathroom door, hoping he could splash some cold water on his face in hopes that it would sober him up a little bit. The door was cracked open and the light was off, so he assumed it was empty.

Light flooded into the tiled room as he swung the door completely open, illuminating the scene inside. Michael, on his knees with his back to the door, in front Geoff. A tattooed hand in his hair. Giving the other man head. Ray immediately slammed the door shut, trying to picture anything else than his friend giving a guy some serious dome.

_I hate college._

He hurried down the hall, knocking over a potted plant that was on a table. He paused as he passed a person with a tray of shots, the guy shoving one of them into his hand and waiting for him to take it. Ray tipped it back, realizing his mistake as the liquor burned his throat on its way to ravage his liver. He coughed and sputtered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and tossing the plastic shot glass back at the random server.

He continued on, heading for the wide open door where he hoped to find solace. The room at the end of the hall was empty, some kind of guest bedroom. Moonlight was flooding into the room through the drapes. He could finally breathe without the risk of hitting someone else. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the bed, holding his head in his hands. 

Ray really just wanted to leave. He rubbed his face, debating whether or not he should march right out the front door and hail a cab. Then he realized he didn't have enough cash on him for a cab ride.

“I'm sorry,” a voice called from the doorway, and he didn't even have to turn around to know that it was Ryan.

Soon enough, the other male joined him, sitting close enough for their knees to touch. Ray let his head loll back against the bed behind him, glancing over at Ryan.

“You don't have to apologize,” Ray started, Ryan waving his hand at him.

“No, I need to. I dragged you to this party when I promised you a night out...just us,” Ryan interrupted him, his hands gripping a bottle of water.

“I brought you to this party because you make me nervous, Ray,” Ryan continued, crunching the side of the plastic bottle in his grasp. It crinkled as he released his grip.

“I can't just hang out with you because I don't know how I feel about you,” he continued to explain, Ray's eyes narrowing as he stared up at the darkened ceiling. 

Ryan looked over at Ray, studying his face as it was brightened somewhat by the moonlight. He mimicked Ray's pose, letting his head rest on the mattress behind him.

“If you could say something to let me know that you're still with me, that'd be cool,” Ryan pressed, Ray just chuckling at him.

“I was just waiting for you to lay it all out on the line,” Ray spoke, a smirk on his face.

“I mean, I didn't tell you everything,” Ryan added, Ray bumping his knee against his, “But that's okay. We've got plenty of time for that.”

Ryan's words seemed to swirl in Ray's mind, a rush of emotions filling his brain and heat rose in his cheeks before flushing down the rest of his body. He felt like his nerve endings were on fire. Ryan reached for his hand and it seemed like electricity rushed through his veins, their fingers lacing together. Ray sat up straighter, trying to relax as Ryan held onto his hand.

“This okay?” Ryan asked, his voice no more than a whisper. 

“Yes,” Ray spoke on an exhale, Ryan's thumb gently stroking against his own.

He waited a moment before propping his head on Ryan's shoulder, knowing if Ryan wasn't cool with it he could just nudge him off. Instead Ryan seemed to slump down, making it easier for Ray to rest his head in the crook of his neck. It was so nice. Ray listened as Ryan chuckled, a deep rumbling that started from his stomach and worked its way out of his throat.

“Is it kind of lame that this is what I've wanted for some time now? Just this?” Ryan questioned, Ray raising his head to look at him.

“No, I think this is fine. I have the alcohol to thank for most of my actions tonight,” Ray admitted, “There's no way in hell I'm capable of holding your hand while sober and not passing out,” he joked, Ryan laughing at his words.

Ryan lifted his free hand, tracing his fingertips lightly along imagined patterns on Ray's neck. Ray leaned into the touch, a small smile on his face as Ryan's fingers moved up his neck to his jawline. He stroked the stubbled skin, where coarse hair was growing in since the last time Ray had shaved.

He cupped Ray's face in his palm, letting his thumb stroke across Ray's cheek.

“You're cute,” Ryan murmured, turning his upper body more towards Ray.

“I'm pretty....drunk,” Ray retorted, a sloppy grin on his face.

His body felt like putty, ready to be molded into whatever shape. He couldn't shake the warmth or the buzz he felt, knowing that the alcohol in his system would soon dwindle to a slow burn but for now he was enjoying the fire. Between the heat flowing through his veins and what he felt in the air between Ryan, the older male's breath fanning on his face. His body was humming, like he was vibrating and shaking without much control. He couldn't tell if he was actually shaking though.

“Your breath smells like booze,” Ray informed Ryan, his right hand playing with the buttons at the top of Ryan's shirt. 

“Yours does too. Maybe because we've both been drinking?” Ryan replied sarcastically, Ray rolling his eyes.

He'd been slowly working up the courage to tell Ryan how much he liked him, but he'd never found the time or the spirit to do it. But with a new fire set inside of him, he felt like the flood gates were about to open and every thought he'd ever had about Ryan would come pouring out.

“You're so serious, all the time,” Ray quipped, shaking his head at Ryan. 

“You're just so handsome with your barely-there dimples and this smile that just knocks me the fuck out. I try not to stare at you because it's like looking at the sun but I can't help it. You're just so warm. Everything about you is brilliant,” Ray rambled, continuing to pull on the buttons that his fingers had been wrapped around.

Ryan seemed taken aback by his words, and he remained silent for a beat that made Ray nervous. But Ryan never ceased trailing his fingertips along the side of Ray's face and neck, the pattern becoming almost intoxicating in itself as it lulled into a familar routine.

It felt like forever until Ryan finally said something, breaking the silence that loomed over them.

“If I'm the sun then you're the moon,” Ryan spoke in a faint voice, Ray continuing to press his head into Ryan's touch.

Ray could slowly feel his mind starting to fog, like the time he'd gotten high with Joel and Adam. The room felt like it was starting to collapse and he had to try his best not to freak out as he felt like everything was crashing around him.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening and his fingertips sparking with the familar electric feeling when they touched Ryan's neck. In a split second he had imagined Ryan's lips against his skin, the soft touch of his fingers to his hips, his teeth nipping along his neck. But Ryan hadn't looked away from him, hadn't tried to kiss his neck. Ray moved as close to Ryan as he could without physically sitting in his lap.

All of his movements seemed to slow down and when Ryan spoke it sounded like he was speaking in an empty room a few doors down. A hollow sounding voice. Ray looked up at Ryan, admiring the way he looked in the moonlight. Blue eyes shining in the pale light, twinkling and sparkling as he continued to talk.

It sounded like Ray was drowning, like his head was being held underwater and Ryan was trying to talk to him as he was submerged. He shivered at the sensation, taking a deep breath to make sure water wouldn't fill his lungs. Ryan's thumb rested on his chin, near his bottom lip. His fingertips tapped at Ray's jaw, drumming out a rhythm that Ray felt matched his heartbeat. Gentle, calming, something that felt like it was barely there.

“You okay?” Ryan asked, his voice just above a murmur.

Ray nodded, although the rest of him told him to say no. It was like he was being held prisoner in his own body and he couldn't process what was happening.

Ryan leaned closer, until their foreheads touched. He grabbed Ray's hand that had been playing with his shirt, pulling it up and back in an attempt to loop Ray's arm around his neck. Ray fisted his hand in the fabric of Ryan's shirt, feeling the muscles in Ryan's back move as his knuckles brushed against them. His other arm had moved on its own accord, having dropped Ryan's hand and moving to play with the hair at the nape of Ryan's neck. Ryan at some point had turned to face Ray, his hands resting on Ray's waist.

“This is a bad idea,” Ryan whispered, Ray just smirking when Ryan cracked a smile.

“It's only a bad idea if you make it one,” Ray replied, ready for whatever Ryan had to offer. 

Both of Ryan's hands were on Ray's waist, thumbs pressing into his stomach while his fingertips carefully pushed into the skin of his back.

“Ryan...” Ray breathed out, suddenly felt uneasy, his hands covering Ryan's wrists.

Ryan let go of his waist, looking at Ray in a concerned manner.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Ray felt dizzy, his grip on Ryan's wrists slipping. Ryan grabbed his hands, Ray's head dipping as he felt his breath get shallow, suddenly really tired. Ryan's voice was hollow again and Ray tried to pay attention to what he was saying. 

“Ray, say something,” Ryan's voice was worried, trying to keep Ray from falling asleep.

“Ry-,” his voice trailed off, his head falling to the side and onto the mattress. Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos! Title comes from "Drop the Game" by Flume featuring Chet Faker.


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